So I am unpacking my bag from my latest trip, trying to remember where I was coming from this time?
Was it a business trip to Latin America and do I have some great coffee beans or some art I found at a unique local boutique? Or better yet Europe, home from a vacation with some new spices or wines and ideas for recipes I want to try out on my own. Maybe it was it just a weekend trip to Vermont and am I unloading my snowboard, or Newport and my surfboard. Or perhaps I just went to NYC to see my folks and have my kids bags’ alongside mine.
No wait nothing that exciting, it's just my gym bag and I am just coming back from my usual work out, happily tired and now ready to meet friends at a new restaurant in Cambridge that we discussed at First Friday at the ICA last weekend.
So as I sit in my kitchen, looking at the piles of tomatoes, cukes and string beans I picked out of the garden that AM, sipping a nice glass of red wine and nibbling on some sharp cheese and olives, I feel glad that I am able to live a full life, have healthy happy kids and a family I am close to. But in my heart, my old soul is looking for someone to join me on the next adventure, or perhaps enjoy a quiet meal that I cooked especially for her.